


and sometimes youre a girl

by beenomorph



Category: Battleborn (Video Game)
Genre: Genderfluid Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenomorph/pseuds/beenomorph
Summary: The bathroom attached to her room wasn’t hers alone– it was, in general, shared by many of the Battleborn’s Jennerit. Which meant, for the most part, it went severely underused for most purposes aside from storing cosmetics and providing a well-lit and private mirror.
That was why Deande was surprised to see Oscar Mike leaning against the sink, the countertop scattered with various types of makeup, painstakingly applying a messy line of eyeliner.





	

Deande sat up in bed, tired face scrunched up in confusion. Her eyes scanned the darkness of the room as she combed a hand through her sleep-mussed hair-- she had heard something, she was sure of it.  


The room, however, was the same as it always was. Mellka lay beside her, mouth hanging open as she snored gently, and Deande couldn’t stop the fond smile painting her features as she ran her thumb along the shaved side of Mellka’s hair. She almost forgot about the sound she’d heart, contented to turn over and go back to sleep for what few hours she could, when she heard it again.

A little crash from the bathroom, a muttered expletive. ‘ _Oh,_ ’ she thought, dismissively, sleep-muddled brain recognizing the voice in an instant, ‘ _It’s just Whiskey.’_

Once more content, she leans back, and almost relaxes again. Which is when, of course, she remembers Whiskey has been away on a mission with the Rogues for the past two days.

Deande was upright in an instant, the fan she kept by her bedside in hand, the only sound the almost-silent padding of her feet against the cold floor, backdropped by Mellka’s quiet snoring. 

The bathroom attached to her room wasn’t hers alone-- it was, in general, shared by many of the Battleborn’s Jennerit. Which meant, for the most part, it went severely underused for most purposes aside from storing cosmetics and providing a well-lit and private mirror.

That was why Deande was surprised to see Oscar Mike leaning against the sink, the countertop scattered with various types of makeup, painstakingly applying a messy line of eyeliner.

“Oscar Mike?” she said, incredulously, her voice still thick from sleep as she allowed her arm to fall by her side. Really, she thought in hindsight, there was no _reason_ for her to grab her fan in the first place. There was a commotion that followed her words-- Mike slipping, accidentally drawing a haphazard line across his forehead dangerously close to his eye, the pencil snapping in his sudden grip.

“ _Deande_?!” Mike choked out, yellow eyes wide as he turned his head, the blood rushing to his cheeks quickly turning his whole face purple as he turned away, “I, uh, thought you were, on a mission.” he mumbled, words running into each other as his vision trailed down to where he rolled the broken pencil in his fingers. An awkward silence passed between them- Deande thought she should say _something_ , but in all honesty, she didn’t even _know_ Mike that well.

“Rath won’t be very happy about the loss of his eyeliner pencil,” Deande said, the sentence breaking the uneasy silence.

“Ugh. Yeah. No, this was-- It’s stupid, I’ll just--” Mike floundered, turning on his heel, refusing to make eye contact with the former Spymistress.

“Oscar, wait,” she said, tucking her fan into the waistband of her sweatpants, and the distance between them was crossed in an instant as she rested a hand on his arm. He continued staring ahead-- his face was nearly glowing from how red it was at this point, the fins on the side of his face flared out and pink. She was distracted by that for a moment-- the only other Galahadrim clone she’d known was Whiskey, and she’d never seen him do _that_. 

“If you’re going to… Y’know, like, make a joke or something, I mean-”

“No!” Deande said, tightening her grip on the other’s arm. “Of course not. Nobody’s good at makeup when they first start using it,” she chuckles, hoping to ease some of the tension. “ I wanted… You looked like you could use some help.” she said, evenly, gesturing to the scattered makeup on the countertop. Mike said nothing, though his face had calmed down considerably after she assured him he wouldn’t mock him, facial fins relaxing back to their usual state. She cleared her throat.

“I could show you how?” she finishes, and Mike looks down at her (Had he… Always been so much taller than her? She wasn’t used to being around him without her heels.), uncertainty painting his features. Deande was distracted, momentarily, by the streak of black across his forehead from the earlier mishap.

“I’ve got eyeshadow that _sparkles_ ,” Deande said, her voice sing-songy, and Mike’s resolve broke as a grin painted his features. 

It had only taken a moment to transform Mike from an embarrassed mess to an excited ball of energy, sitting cross-legged on the counter in a way Deande knew Ambra would abhor if she could see it. 

“You’re going to have to sit still,” she said, and her voice was firm but far from unamused as she scrubbed away Mike’s previous attempts.

“I’m just!” Mike says, sharp-toothed grin stretching his face, “I’m going to look so badass!” he raises both arms in emphasis, voice barely contained to an inside-volume. Deande grinned, pulling her hair back into a messy bun. 

“Only if you can sit _still_.” she agreed with a chuckle. Oscar Mike complied, sitting up at attention, eyes bright and wide as Deande set to work.

Applying makeup was always relaxing to her, the smell of makeup products, the feeling of the brush strokes against skin, and the satisfying feeling of a job well done after she was complete. It was fun, also--with Mike she got to use some underused colors on her palette, the deep blues and purples that were far from her traditional red and black look. 

“Oscar,” she inquired, biting her lower lip as she pondered which way to wing the eyeliner on the eye on his forehead, “Do you enjoy… Things like this?”

“What, you mean girl stuff?” Mike said, eyebrows furrowing.

“I, well,   _yes_ ,” Deande responds, “I mean, wearing makeup isn’t _just_ a ‘girl thing.’ Rath wears makeup,” she paused, “And dresses, too.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, voice dreamy and distant. Deande decided, to hell with it, she could wing it both ways.

“Close your eyes,” she hummed, before continuing, “Would you like to?”

Mike shrugged. If he could, he’d probably be turning his head down, away from her, “I dunno. Sometimes, I guess.” he muttered. “Yeah. I guess.” silence settled between them before Oscar took a breath, “Not all the time, you know? But sometimes, y’know, I see you or like, Alani or something, and it’s like, _wow_ , you know? I want to look like that. Just for, like, a day.” he said it quickly, words spilling from his mouth before he could stop them, “So, I come in here, sometimes, because you guys have so much makeup that most of the time you don’t even like, notice when it’s gone, and when it _does_ go missing you just blame each other, y’know?” he shrugs, and Deande notes that he is more insightful than he seems. She also remembers accusing Ambra just last week of taking her lipstick. 

“So I come in here, and put on makeup, and pretend to be a girl for a while, and it’s like, really nice.” 

Deande cocked her head to the side. 

“Oscar, you don’t have to _pretend_. If you feel like a girl sometimes, or want to be a girl sometimes, then you can be.” 

Silence fell between them as Deande applied lipstick- Oscar didn’t have much in the way of lips, in all honesty, but it really completed the look.

“Okay, then, I guess… I’m a girl right now, then?” she said, quietly, and then grinned. Her eyes opened, bright and yellow and shiny, “I’m a girl. Right now. I’m a girl _right now_!” 

Deande smiles too as she pats her shoulder, procuring a hand-mirror from the countertop. Oscar grabs the mirror greedily, then freezes, transfixed by her own reflection, turning her head so that the sparkles in the eyeshadow caught the light, marvelling at the hues painting her eyes and cheeks.

“So? What do you s-” Deande was cut off by a very uncharacteristic hug of the bone-crushing sort, and Oscar’s incoherent thankful babbling that sounded all-too-much like the onset of an ugly cry.

“Please don’t cry,” Deande said as she patted Oscar’s back from where she was locked awkwardly in her embrace, “I mean it, dear, your makeup isn’t waterproof.”

After a moment, Deande was relinquished, and Oscar continued to look at herself in the mirror, grin wide.

“Who are you and what have you done with Oscar ‘hugs are stupid’ Mike,” Deande joked as they parted, leaving one hand on her back. “If you see her, tell her she owes me a new lipstick.” Deande said with mock-bitterness, and at that, Oscar laughed.   



End file.
